Chapter One Hundred: Like Self-Torment

"No! I want to finish the race!" Mo Shu pressed his hand to his face, refusing the suggestions of Wang Yu and Wang Yining.

"Even if you won't think of yourself, at least consider my safety as your navigator. What if you pass out from the pain and we have an accident?"

Wang Yining knew well that once Mo Shu made up his mind, not even ten bulls, or a hundred, could drag him back. She didn't want to waste her breath trying to persuade him further and went straight for her trump card.

To force Mo Shu to withdraw by putting her own life on the line—this was truly a last resort.

Trigeminal neuralgia, although it only flared up every few years, was notorious for being the most excruciating pain known to man. Even more frightening, if it became severe enough, especially with disturbances in the ophthalmic branch, it could have a temporary but dramatic impact on a person's vision.

Though the visual effects were only temporary, for a race car driver barreling down the track at high speed, the stakes were all too clear.

Mo Shu's decision wasn't just reckless for himself; it also put Wang Yining in danger alongside him.

"Please, there are only two stages left. I can manage the pain," Mo Shu pleaded, raising his hand to reveal a small, silver, curved needle.

"What do you mean?"

"It's a substitute for an acupuncture needle. I just borrowed it from someone," Mo Shu said, gesturing toward the ambulance parked beside the service area.

"You're insane..." Wang Yining turned her head away, unwilling to listen to more nonsense.

"Come on, I promise we won't have an accident. I swear! I want to win..." Mo Shu was almost begging now.

Who didn't want to win? Seeing the determination and longing in Mo Shu's eyes, Wang Yining wavered.

After all, there were only two stages left, the shortest of the rally, with a combined distance of less than 30 kilometers.

Unfortunately, the team's car was no longer the beast it once was. If Mo Shu still drove the old, high-speed machine, they could afford to give up a stage or two today and easily make up the time tomorrow.

But with the new speed restrictions, every lead was measured in seconds again. At this point, losing even one stage meant forfeiting the entire event.

Giving up was simply too bitter a pill to swallow.

"Didn't we promise to win the Monte Carlo stage together and then return to China to chase our dreams? Have you forgotten?" Mo Shu gripped the medical suture needle tightly. For his dream, he was willing to bear this pain.

Wang Yining shrugged and spread her hands. "Fine. But if you get worse during the race, you have to pull over and withdraw. Go see a doctor."

Mo Shu nodded with a wry smile. The pain was so intense now that sometimes he couldn't even form a complete sentence.

"Attention, drivers! Attention! The next stage is about to begin. Please prepare to start!"

Thank goodness! Let it end quickly. Mo Shu wished he could be at the finish line in an instant and crawl into bed at the camp for a good sleep.

Wang Yining climbed into the co-driver’s seat, keeping a close eye on Mo Shu, ready to call it off at the slightest sign of trouble.

Mo Shu buckled himself in, took a deep breath, and kept the silver needle clenched in his fist.

"I forgot to ask, how exactly do you use that acupuncture substitute? Don’t tell me you’re going to stab your thigh to distract yourself from the pain in your head?" Wang Yining tried to lighten the mood with a joke, but as soon as she said it, she realized it was a poor attempt at humor.

"Heh, it's not that simple." To her shock, Mo Shu took off his helmet and handed it to her.

Racing without a helmet—was he trying to get himself killed? Wang Yining shot him a look of disbelief.

Mo Shu forced a grim smile. It wasn't like he wanted to do this—racing without a helmet was dangerous.

He took another deep breath, his expression growing resolute. He raised the silver needle in his right hand and, with a swift motion, stabbed it into his own temple. Wang Yining was so startled by his madness that she was left speechless.

She stared at him in utter disbelief. Why would anyone stick a needle into their temple? Wasn't that deadly? Was he completely out of his mind?

Mo Shu gritted his teeth through the searing pain and explained apologetically, "Sorry, but the only way to quickly relieve the pain is to insert the needle one or two millimeters into the nerve itself. I learned this from the old acupuncturist downstairs at my apartment. I know what I'm doing, don't be upset."

Upset wasn't the right word—Wang Yining was heartbroken. For the sake of victory, Mo Shu was willing to go to such extremes. It was agonizing to watch.

"So, the helmet’s useless now. With an antenna sticking out of my head, I can't wear it." Strangely enough, this crude form of acupuncture actually worked; Mo Shu even managed a joke.

Seizing the moment before the officials noticed the missing helmet, Mo Shu floored the accelerator. The car shot onto the track, and they were back in the race, still fighting for victory.

The SS14 stage went smoothly. Mo Shu performed as usual, and the reduced pain brought him relief. The lingering ache even became a kind of stimulant, pushing him forward.

But blood continued to seep from his temple, giving Wang Yining an extra task: wiping it from his face while reading the pace notes and keeping an eye on the road.

"You're driving fast and bleeding at the same time. Maybe we should call you the 'Blood-Sweating Steed' from now on," Wang Yining said, multitasking as she kept track of the route and dabbed at the blood. She found herself needing even more focus than Mo Shu.

Mo Shu fell silent, realizing that Wang Yining’s attempts at humor in tense moments were always chillingly awkward.

"We're about to enter the next stage. How are you holding up?" Wang Yining, sensing her joke had fallen flat, returned to the matter at hand.

"Not...not so good. It’s...it’s getting worse," Mo Shu stammered suddenly, his speech breaking up.

Wang Yining’s heart lurched. She immediately thought of making him withdraw again.

But Mo Shu gave her a steady, reassuring look. He knew this attack of trigeminal neuralgia had lasted too long, and now it was affecting the maxillary and mandibular nerves as well.

"Are you sure you want to keep going?" Wang Yining’s heart ached for him.

"Yes! It's...it's just the last...the very, very last..." Mo Shu didn't finish his sentence, unwilling to waste precious time on stuttering.

Ten kilometers to go—and Mo Shu was determined to endure this crushing physical ordeal to the end. Wang Yining’s voice trembled as she read the pace notes. She wished she could take his place and finish the race for him.

With five kilometers left, Mo Shu's vision began to blur. He had been pushing himself for far too long, and his optic nerve was now affected. But at this moment, only one thought remained in his mind—finish!

As long as he finished, the team doctor would treat him immediately!

As long as he finished, all his efforts in Monte Carlo would not be in vain!

As long as he finished, most of those mindless critics online would finally shut up!

Mo Shu knew he could be stubborn, but in his heart, he wanted to stand apart from the world.

For himself, for his partner, and above all, for his dream!